


The Guy Knew how to Make A Point

by Miri1984



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: 174 spoilers, Discussion of Death, Discussion of Injury, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:01:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27018493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/pseuds/Miri1984
Summary: This is actually fluff, funnily enough.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 25
Kudos: 91





	The Guy Knew how to Make A Point

There is a timeless interval where kisses are exchanged and words that they thought they would never get to say were finally spoken. The others give them privacy, despite the urgency of their mission, despite how far they still have to go.

Oscar ends up with his head in Zolf’s lap, eyes shut in lazy contentment as Zolf carded his hands through his hair. Zolf’s hands had stopped shaking, eventually, had stopped hesitating every time they reached to touch, and Oscar cradled that feeling of safety, of something  _ decided  _ in his heart like the most precious of gems.

Then something occurs to him. “How did it happen, exactly?” he asks.

“One of the engines disappeared,” Zolf says. “We’ve been over this, Wil… Oscar.”

“No, I don’t mean how did the ship go down,” he takes a breath. “I mean how did I die?”

Zolf’s hands still in his hair, tightening on it enough to sting. “Uh…”

“Was it just the fall? Or did I…” he notices Zolf has gone very, very still. “Oh,” Oscar says. “I didn’t… if you don’t want to…”

“No, no you deserve to know I just… Well.”

Oscar twists and sits up, taking both of Zolf’s hands and kissing them. “I can ask someone else.”

“Well, no one else saw you where you… fell. And I didn’t tell any of them…”

Oscar blinks for a moment, overcome with the knowledge that Zolf had extricated him from the crash by himself. 

Before the druids had arrived.

He swallows. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“No, it’s… it’s fine.” Zolf squeezes his hands, almost tight enough to hurt. Oscar wonders if he’s trying to reassure himself that they’re real and squeezes back, stops himself from leaning forward to kiss him again - a new sensation, one that he wants to explore in every way possible.

But he also wants to know how he died. 

Zolf extricates one hand and shifts forward, putting it over Oscar’s chest. “Here,” he says. 

There is new scar tissue there. An ugly mess of it. Once upon a time Oscar would have been devastated by it, that marking, but he’s a long, long time away from caring about how pretty he is. “Part of the ship went straight through you,” Zolf says, and he’s staring at the scar, his expression very carefully blank. “I knew you were dead even before I got close. Nothing… no one can survive that.”

Oscar sucks in a long breath through his nose. Puts his hand over Zolf’s. He needs to do something, say something to break that expression on Zolf’s face, bring it back to what it was when he first woke up, or better, what it was two hours after that, when they’d reaffirmed that he was still alive, when they’d accepted it.

“Figures,” he says. 

“What?” Zolf asks.

“The first time I get skewered since the apocalypse and it’s a piece of wood.” Zolf blinks. Frowns a little. Opens his mouth. “Not even the  _ good  _ kind of wood,” Oscar continues with an exaggerated sigh.

Zolf sucks his bottom lip in between his lips, and Oscar can see his cheeks dimpling. He’s trying to hold back a smile. Oscar knows him  _ too well  _ at this point. “I swear to… no I don’t swear to any gods Wilde if you…”

Oscar clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Getting penetrated is usually far more enjoy…” He doesn’t get to finish the sentence, because Zolf barrels into him and stops his words with kisses. There are tears on his cheeks when he pulls back but the dreadful emptiness has left his expression.

“I’m going to kill you again,” Zolf says.

Oscar reaches up and tangles a hand in Zolf’s hair. “Almost certainly,” he says. “But not just yet, mmm?” Zolf shakes his head and Oscar shifts his hips a little under him, eyebrow twitching. “How about you help me make some nicer memories of being impaled, Mr Smith?”

“Shut the fuck up, Oscar,” Zolf says, but his voice is muffled because he is busy kissing a line down past the scar on Oscar’s chest, and it really is, Oscar thinks as he buries his hands in Zolf’s hair again, utterly, completely, deliriously delightful.

“Yes, sir,” he murmurs, and does as he is told.

**Author's Note:**

> Say what you will about Vlad the Impaler....


End file.
